


Less Than Zero

by rockethop



Category: Parks and Recreation
Genre: Car Accidents, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Hospitalization, Hospitals, Post-Break Up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-16
Updated: 2020-06-24
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:01:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24761233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rockethop/pseuds/rockethop
Summary: When Ben Wyatt is in a car accident, Leslie Knope flocks to his side to support his recovery in whatever way she can. The only problem is he doesn't remember the events leading up to the collision - including his breakup with Leslie. She'll remind him, eventually. She just doesn't want to make his recovery any more stressful than it already is. At least, that's what she's telling herself.
Relationships: Leslie Knope/Ben Wyatt
Comments: 50
Kudos: 68
Collections: Parks Fanfic Revival 2020





	1. Impact

**Author's Note:**

> Meg finally got a multichapter idea and fleshed it out!? What!?
> 
> Kidding aside, I went through and outlined everything last night and I'm really excited to write this story and for you guys to read it!
> 
> A bit of a disclaimer, I'm not involved in the medical field and while I did my best to research all of these conditions, terminologies, and recovery rates/timings, please keep in mind that this is a fictional story meant to serve the purpose of entertainment. Some facts/recovery timing may not be completely accurate to real life. Please don't hold it against me!! c:
> 
> Enjoy!

_Buzz._

_Buzz. Buzzz. Buzzzzzz._

_Buzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz._

Leslie is only semi-conscious when she realizes that the rude awakening is coming from her cell phone vibrating incessantly on her nightstand. She palms for it and squints at the unfamiliar number that’s shining up at her through heavy eyelids. She’s tempted to allow it to go to voicemail but she decides against it before the call has the chance to drop.

“What?” She questions tiredly - perhaps too sharply - but then again, it’s 2:52 in the morning and it’s not like she sleeps well to begin with and she doesn’t have much time left before she needs to be awake for work.

“Is Miss Leslie Knope available?” An unknown masculine voice asks her.

She shifts to a more upright position, more alert now that it’s become apparent that this phone call was completely intentional.

“Y-yes, this is her.” She stammers.

“This is Dr. William Lane from Saint Joseph Hospital. I’m sorry to be calling you so late,” he says. His voice is cold and steely in her ear which furthers the knot of dread taking root in her stomach. “I’m calling on behalf of Benjamin Wyatt, he was involved in an accident and is now in the intensive care unit. You were listed as his primary emergency contact.”

Leslie’s flinging the covers to the end of the bed and running down the stairs to grab her keys before she even realizes what she’s doing.

“Is he alright? Can I see him? Is he alive? Is he okay?” She’s screeching. Everything she’s asking is all too redundant but she’s borderline hysteric now.

“He’s in stable condition, but I’m afraid that’s all I can divulge over the phone.”

Leslie answers almost immediately, “I’ll be there in ten minutes. Thank you.”

She ends the call with the shake of her trembling thumb and is out the door, wearing the clothes she’d been sleeping in and the pair of shoes that were closest to the door.

_Damn. Damn it all. Fuck, fuck, fuck._

It feels painfully long to her, but Leslie is eventually standing with Dr. Lane in a quiet waiting area, to which Leslie wonders if the nature of the information she’s about to receive had any influence over. He must notice how distraught she is because when he offers his hand to her in a handshake it lingers a moment before coming to rest on her shoulder.

“Ben’s okay,” he says simply and Leslie is sucker-punched by the relief that washes over her. “He’s a little worse for wear, but he’s alright.”

All she can do is nod through the tears that are falling down her face. She’s shaking her head not so much in acknowledgment, but more so because _of course, he’d be okay. He’s Ben Wyatt and he has to be okay_. Leslie swipes at her cheeks with the back of her wrist.

“Early last night he was involved in a head-on collision when the other driver lost consciousness and the vehicle drifted into his lane. Both vehicles were traveling at the speed limit which helped reduce the severity of the impact but he suffered a dislocated shoulder and whiplash.”

“Can I see him?” She asks again.

Leslie thinks she sees the ghost of a smile flash along the doctor’s lips. “Sure,” he replies before he grows solemn. “Miss Knope, your partner -”

He’s interrupted by Leslie. “He’s not my boyfriend anymore.”

“My apologies. Ben displayed signs of swelling in the brain. It’s possible that he may have hit his head during the collision. It’s very likely that he’ll make a full recovery, but the decision was made to sedate and intubate him to allow his head to heal.”

“Can I see him?” She requests for a third time this morning, this time with more fire. The words scratch at her throat and threaten to derail what’s left of her composure.

Dr. Lane nods. “Follow me.”

He turns and Leslie follows him through two sets of heavy doors into a maze of hallways lined with dimly lit patient rooms. They make it to the nurses’ station when she spots _Wyatt, B_ scribbled in black dry erase marker outside one of the rooms. She pushes past the people in front of her and enters his room, releasing a shaky breath before venturing beyond the privacy curtain.

Ben’s surroundings are illuminated by the lamp on the bedside table, bathing him in the soft light, casting shadows on the left side of his face with the ventilation tube that’s been forced down his throat as well as the electrodes that have been placed on his head. His face - _his poor, beautiful face_ , Leslie thinks - is adorned with scrapes and bandages and bruises that she thumbs delicately as if they will disappear if she brushes them away. His chest rises and falls in time with the hissing deliverance of oxygen from the machine next to him. He looks at ease - far more peaceful than she’s ever seen him - an observation that both calms and unsettles Leslie. She drags the oversized chair away from the wall to Ben’s bedside so she can face him while sitting. Her fingers reach out on their own accord and find the back of his hand, firm and rough and warm.

The quiet is disturbed by a nurse shuffling into the room. She greets Leslie with a narrow smile before recording Ben’s vitals on the chart that she’s gripping to her chest.

“His ICP has been good for some time now,” she offers. “Which is always a good sign. It means the swelling’s going down.”

“ICP?” Leslie questions.

“Intracranial pressure. The neurologist’s given the authorization to wean him off the sedatives throughout the next few hours.” The nurse reaches out towards the IV bag hanging above Ben’s head and twists to reduce the flow of medication.

“He’s going to wake up soon?”

The nurse jots down the medication dosage and time on the chart. “It will take a bit, but he’ll be back with us as long as he keeps recovering at the rate that he is now.”

She glances away from her clipboard and takes in the scene before her. Leslie’s holding the hand of Ben’s uninjured arm between both of hers, her body quivering despite her best efforts.

“He’s doing great.” The nurse clicks her pen shut and slides it behind the metal clip before continuing. “Given the nature of his injuries, though, he may be a bit disoriented when he wakes up. He might have some difficulty remembering what happened before the collision… but I’ll bet he’ll appreciate having a familiar face around when he comes to.” She adds.

Leslie sniffs in response.

“I’ll be right back with a blanket. It can be pretty chilly in here.”

“It’s okay, I’m not cold,” Leslie says.

“Just in case.”

The nurse smiles again and leaves Leslie alone with Ben.

She fishes her phone from her bag and calls the Parks department to leave a message to inform everyone that she won’t be at work in the coming hours before leaving a similar message on the answering machine in Chris’s office on Ben’s behalf. She calls April but receives no response - which she’s not especially surprised about. As much as Leslie loves and admires April, she doesn’t know if April and Andy would give a second thought to their roommate being absent from work and the house. April’s voicemail receives a condensed version of the story before Leslie calls Ann.

The wily minx doesn’t answer her damn phone. She doesn’t answer the second call, or the third, nor the fourth.

“Damn it, Ann!” Leslie curses and selects Ann's contact information again. She sits through the monotonous dialing for a fifth time before her voice breaks.

“Ann, Ben’s in the hospital, can you please pick up your fucking phone?” She chokes on a sob before reeling herself back in. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Call me back. Please.” She ends the call and the phone falls haphazardly into Leslie’s lap.

Leslie snakes her hand into Ben’s again, wrapping her fingers over the top of his palm so that she can rub circles onto the back of his hand.

“Hey,” Leslie says to Ben. She’s not even sure if he can hear her but she can’t stop herself from saying what’s about to come spilling out of her. “Don’t you even dare think of leaving. I know I can be a lot sometimes, but this is a bit dramatic, don’t you think?” She titters.

He remains motionless until the next breath of air is delivered to his lungs. She reaches up and brushes the wisps of hair from his forehead and suddenly he feels too far away. His hand isn’t holding hers in return and she closes his limp palm around hers with a slight squeeze from her free hand. It’s not enough and it’s selfish but it’s all Leslie has at the moment.

The monitor displaying the electroencephalogram dances with slow, spaced waves with irregular peaks and dips.

“You’re not allowed to be anything other than perfect. I’m not asking you, Benjamin Wyatt, it’s a demand. I won’t accept anything less than your perfect, thoughtful, dorky, nerdy self. You have all your friends to get back to - that stupid calculator, even - you have so many people that love you and need you.”

She can feel the adrenaline that was driving her draining from her system faster than she can keep up and she rests her cheek on top of the sheet next to her and Ben’s hands. She gives his hand a final squeeze before dragging her thumb along the rugged skin one last time.

“ _I_ love you and need you, Ben.”

Her eyes fall shut and she misses the momentary spike on the EEG.


	2. Hard to Breathe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the kudos and comments! Here is chapter two. c:

_ He’s choking. His head really fucking hurts and his throat feels as if it’s caving in on itself and he can’t breathe and he’s choking. _

His eyes creep open with immense exertion. He feels as if he’s drowning, being dragged back by the undertow of unconsciousness and torn apart by the rip current as he paddles frantically towards the light that’s filtering through the surface. He tries to scream but his lungs do not afford him the luxury. Instead, the noise comes out muffled and his chest feels like it’s going to explode. Someone’s beside him but he can’t make out their features or their voice in his drug-induced state. 

When Ben regains control of his uninjured hand, he’s clawing at his throat until his hand hits plastic. He’s got a grip on the tube and is about to yank on it when the unknown figure forcefully grabs his good wrist and tears it away from the tubing. It’s suppressed, but he thinks the person is shouting whilst leaning over him, restraining his arms as best as they can. He’s convulsing, terrified and disoriented, and Ben hasn’t seen the man in far too long, and the guy is actually kind of the worst most times, but he yearns for the comforting embrace of his father’s hand on his upper back.

The hold on his hand is becoming too much, too intense, and Ben tries to resist the attempt to subdue him with minimal success. It’s a nightmare sequence - it must be - because he can’t fend off the attacker. He has no strength and nothing he’s trying is yielding any success and  _ he is choking  _ and shouting and his head hurts and eyes sting and -

“ _ BEN! _ ”

And that’s when the voice breaks through to him.

His head falls back without control and he recognizes her eyes first, blue and wide with concern. Her blonde hair is next to come into focus. It’s half-curled and falling into her face with abandon and he wants nothing more than to reach out and move it from her face but he can barely lift his head. He then comes to the realization that Leslie’s thrown herself on top of him and has pinned his wrists to his chest in a cross.

He tries to say her name but the ventilator prevents him from forming a coherent sound and his eyes widen in fear again.

“Shh, I know, shh.” Leslie releases one of his wrists to brush the hair away from his eyes and off of his damp forehead. “You’re okay. They’re on their way. The tube will be gone soon.”

Ben isn’t exactly sure who the ‘ _they’_ that Leslie speaks of are - but he is sure that she wouldn’t let anyone hurt him so he nods and he feels his heart rate begin to slow.

A team of nurses flood into the room and surround him as Leslie climbs down from the bed.

“Alright, Ben, let’s get that tube out for ya.”

One of the male nurses approaches him and raises Ben’s head, the team working to cover Ben’s chest with an absorbent liner. Switches behind him are flipped and settings are changed and Ben extends a weary hand towards Leslie. She takes it within her own and presses his fingers to her lips before settling the union against her abdomen. A nurse then presses their stethoscope to Ben’s neck while the others work to attach a syringe to the ventilation tube.

“Okay, we’re going to try to do this in the most comfortable way possible,” the first nurse tells Ben. “Take some deep breaths for me.”

Ben complies while receiving encouragement from Leslie by means of a hand squeeze.

“Alright, next time you breathe in, hold that breath for me.”

The nurse has positioned a pair of scissors between Ben’s jaw and the tape that was holding the tube in place. Ben swallows anxiously then draws in another breath and holds. 

“On the count of three. One, two, three.” 

The nurse pulls the tube out in one swift movement and Ben starts coughing furiously as an older nurse thrusts a suction into his mouth.

“Clamp down, sweetheart.” She tells him before her gloved hand moves to close his jaw for him.

“Get the cannula,” the first nurse calls and another extends their arms over Ben’s head to grab more tubing.

The soft plastic is thrust into Ben’s nose and looped around his ears before the stethoscope is reintroduced to the side of his neck. He’s being prompted to breathe deeply again as the excess tubes and scissors and the liner are all being stripped away.

The older nurse moves the stethoscope from Ben’s neck to his chest. “Can you say a few words for me, dear?”

“Leslie,” he groans breathily. She’d been nudged aside during the commotion. “I want Leslie.”

“She’s right here, baby, don’t you worry.” She removes the stethoscope from his chest and backs away so that Leslie can reclaim her position.

The other nurses file out of the room after disposing of their gloves and the woman speaks again.

“We haven’t had the chance to properly meet yet, Mr. Wyatt.” She walks around the foot of the bed to address him from the other side. She lowers the railing and motions for Ben to sit up further. “My name is Linda. You had us pretty worried when you first got here. Couldn’t even keep your eyes open.”

Linda smiles softly and motions towards Leslie. “I need to do a quick evaluation, dear, if you don’t mind.”

Leslie shakes her head in affirmation and releases Ben’s hand again.

“Alright, Benjamin. Can you open and close your eyes for me when I ask?”

He completes the exercise to the best of his abilities, opening and closing and opening and closing again and again. Linda prompts him to touch his finger to her pen that she moves all around him in seemingly no set pattern. She then asks him some questions -  _ What is your full name? What year is it? Who is the current president?  _ \- which takes him some time, but he answers correctly nonetheless.

It’s not until she asks him about what happened before the collision that Ben’s face scrunches in confusion. He can’t provide an answer for what he was doing before he woke up. Come to think of it, he can’t remember anything since Li’l Sebastian died.

Linda writes something indecipherable on the chart and she leaves after thanking him for his participation.

“Les,” he croaks once Linda is out of earshot. “What the hell happened?”

He’s motioning for her again and her face screws up in confusion. “You really don’t remember anything?”

Leslie sits on the edge of the bed so that one leg is dangling and the other is firmly on the floor. Ben casts a glance at the nurses’ station outside the window and drops his volume to a whisper. “Babe, the last thing I remember is driving home after the Li’l Sebastian memorial.”

_ Oh god,  _ she muses,  _ he doesn’t remember it. He doesn’t remember any of it. Not the break up, not the no-hanging-out agreement, not even her meltdown at the figurative end of the world. _

And so she has a decision to make. 

And she’s not proud of it, but she doesn’t feel that she made the correct one.

So much so that she feels herself stiffen when he places his hand on her hip and tells her that he’s just glad she’s here. His thumb pushes under the hem of her t-shirt to rest languidly on her stomach and she feels the embers of desire building in the recesses of her hollow chest along with the guilt.

“You were driving in the downtown sector of Pawnee last night,” she starts. “The other driver lost consciousness. How they did, I’m not sure. But they hit you head-on as they lost control of the car.”

She pauses and sniffs in an attempt to control her rising emotions.

“And that’s scary and I was very afraid when I got here and I saw you like that.”

A beat passes without either of them saying anything.

“Leslie,” Ben’s eyes drift to a close. “I need your help.”

“With what?”

“I just… want to hold you.” He says through labored breath. “But my arm’s in a… In a…”

He can’t remember the word for the fabric that binds his arm to his body and he tries to wiggle it to get Leslie’s attention. Instead, he cries out in pain.

“Ah - oh - fuck! - Ow! -  _ Christ _ .”

“A  _ sling _ ,” she emphasizes so that there’s no room for misinterpretation - she’s chastising him. “The whole point is so your arm doesn’t move and cause you pain.”

Leslie pulls off her shoes by stepping on the backs of the heels and steps onto the floor, the coldness seeping through her socks. She clambers up next to him and rests her head in the crook of his uninjured shoulder. She places her hand on his chest and attempts to feel his heartbeat through the hospital gown, shifting her hand when she isn’t initially successful.

Ben’s cheek is pressed against the top of her head when she feels him ask about the weeks before the accident, the weeks between the memorial and today.

“Get some rest, we’ll talk about it later.” She whispers.

There’s an attempt made to roll his eyes but his coordination still isn’t all there yet which prompts Leslie to huff in amusement. He is, however, triumphant in his mission to press a kiss to her hairline. It’s flitting and uncharacteristically expressive and Leslie regrets that the moment has already passed.

“Ben, what if someone from City Hall stops by?”

“Tell them I don’t want any visitors.”

“Coworkers don’t crawl into hospital beds with each other.”

His eyes are closed. “Blame it on the drugs.”

They’re silent for some time before he asks her, “What time is it?”

“Late,” Leslie says.

“When did you get here?”

“Early.”

“That’s so informative.” His voice is raspy and a yawn escapes him. “I’m tired.”

“Sleep,” she commands, and he settles against the raised head of the mattress.

Leslie resigns herself to flipping through TV channels to find something to distract herself with. She’s settled for a channel airing reruns of  _ I Love Lucy  _ when she hears a faint knock on the door. Ann’s standing in the doorframe, donning a perplexed expression and holding two cups of coffee. Leslie carefully removes herself from Ben’s embrace and patters over to Ann, grabbing the coffee with no lipstick stains on the lid.

“So he’s off the ventilator now,” Ann remarks, pointing out the obvious.

“Mhmm.” Leslie is suddenly fascinated by her coffee stirrer.

“What was that all about? Are you guys back together now?”

Leslie removes the plastic stirrer from her cup and runs each side along her tongue. “Not… exactly.”

“Leslie!” Ann scolds through bared teeth.

“It’s fine, Ann. Really.”

“Leslie, I read his chart. He has retrograde amnesia,” Ann hisses.

She throws her arms out defensively. “He doesn’t remember anything about the last two weeks and just woke up after being in a car accident. You can’t just spring these things on someone, you ease them into it! I’m doing him a favor by not overwhelming him.”

“I know what retrograde amnesia is!” She replies snarkily. “Look. A month ago, Ben changed his emergency contact from Chris - his boss - to you - his girlfriend… but you’re not his girlfriend anymore! You need to tell him what happened.”

“But what if I don’t want to, Ann? What if this is the universe’s way of helping us to, I don’t know… figure it all out?”

Ann forcefully exhales to clear her bangs from her face. “Leslie, I know how desperately you want this to work out between you two… but he’s going to get his memory back, whether that’s through someone helping him to retrieve those memories or the passing of time.”

Leslie’s eyebrows knit together as she glowers at her best friend. She doesn’t have a rebuttal so she raises the cup to her lips and takes a sip of her sugary drink.

“I just don’t want either of you two to get hurt because of this.”

Something snaps within Leslie and she gestures towards the injured Ben laying parallel to her through the window. “In case you didn’t notice, Ann, he’s already hurt right now.”

The two women stand there not speaking until Ben awakes and calls out for Leslie again. With a look of unrestrained vitriol from Ann, Leslie returns to Ben’s room.


	3. Call Me Up Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all!! Thanks for being so patient. This was originally going to be one long chapter, but I think it makes more sense plot-wise to split it here and start the rest of what was originally planned on the fourth chapter.
> 
> Thank you all so much for the kudos and comments, they mean so much to me!

The following days saw Leslie return to the parks department in the mornings where she’d work until her lunch break and return to spend the rest of the day with Ben at the hospital. His recovery was becoming increasingly auspicious and he was instructed to walk laps around the ward every hour.

So when Leslie slinks her arm around Ben’s lower waist and gazes into his eyes reverently, he doesn’t have the heart to tell her that he doesn’t require the physical support as they meander through the halls. He’s all cords and tubes and monitors and he has to push the pole that his IV is attached to around as they walk, but Leslie’s hand rubs circles on his back through the clothes that she brought for him to wear and he’s able to overlook the tediousness of the trips.

They’re sitting in his bed again despite the safety recommendations from the nursing staff and eating the six single-serving cups of ice cream that they requested be brought up from the cafeteria while watching old late-night Jeopardy episodes when he presses his lips into her hair.

“What was that about?” Leslie smiles before putting a plastic spoon loaded with strawberry ice cream into her mouth. With her back pressed against her chest and his thighs on each side of her crossed legs, she has to twist so that she can see his expression. His eyes are soft as he takes her in - she’s let go of the spoon and is holding it firmly between her lips which causes the handle to point up towards the ceiling.

“You took the  _ scenic route  _ with me today.”

He’s referring to the additional hall that had been tacked onto his walking regimen as of yesterday morning.

Leslie lets her jaw go slack and the spoon falls to her lap. “It’s a nice view.”

“Yeah?” Ben questions and she nods. “Describe some of the art we passed.”

“I -”

Admittedly, she doesn’t have an answer for him, so she reclaims the utensil, dips it into Ben’s bowl, and shoves the bite between her lips.

“Hey,” Ben objects. “Get your own ice cream.”

Leslie hums as if considering her options. “I don’t like chocolate ice cream.”

He loops his arm around her front, pulls her to him, dips his voice down low and grits his teeth, “You’re such a liar.”

The statement demands to be acknowledged but Leslie’s giggling before she has the chance to address it. Ben’s wriggling fingers are working themselves into her sides and tickling her, ceasing their assault to hand her what’s left of the chocolate ice cream before he tears the lid off of a package of vanilla.

“You had some in Indianapolis,” Ben says matter-of-factly.

_ That he remembers,  _ Leslie winces before chiding herself. The lapses in his memory aren’t his fault.

She asks him, “You remember Indianapolis?”

“Mhmm. Yeah, it’s when I realized that I had to have you.”

He’s looking at her with his warm, coffee-with-thirty-sugars eyes, and maybe it’s just the light dose of morphine that he requested because his body ached that was prompting him to say these things, but Leslie feels her insides become sickeningly similar to the melted ice cream at the bottom of the bowl - warm, liquid, and sweet.

Ben continues, “I love managing budgets because there’s order and rules when you’re solving an equation, but when we were at Chris’s house, all I wanted was to pull you close. Order and rules be damned.”

“And you did.” She smiles.

“Yeah, yeah. You were cross-eyed.” He’s laughing airily. “But I just remember thinking I had to know. I didn’t want to wonder anymore about what it would be like to hold you.”

Leslie clears her throat. “Damn, Wyatt, you’re such a sap. Gross.”

“Uh, yeah. Well. Um,” he stutters. “I’ve had a lot of time to think recently.”

With some light coaxing from Leslie and profuse encouragement from the morphine drip, Ben reveals that he’s been mulling over his future - their future - to which Leslie is taken aback, but he apparently doesn’t seem to notice.

“I’m the middle child and I always hated it growing up. I was never old enough to have the privileges my brother had, but I couldn’t get away with nearly as much as my sister did because she was the baby. Then my parents’ marriage fell apart and Henry staked claim on behavioral issues and Stephanie withdrew from everyone, so I felt like my only option was to keep my head down and not draw attention to myself.

But I know that I still want to get married. I want to get married to someone that I love and maybe start a family with them. And I want to do better than my parents. I want to have three kids, a boy, a girl, and another boy. Or maybe two boys and then a girl. But I don’t want a girl first. Every little girl deserves a big brother that steals and crashes her bike and tattles on her but will kick a guy’s ass for breaking her heart.”

“Did you ever do that with Stephanie?”

He puffs his chest out, chin raised high and face assuming a smug expression. “Oh, so many times. She was such a pain in my ass while we were growing up but when she brought a guy home I told him I would kill him if he hurt her.”

“And the bike?”

“That was Henry’s doing.” Ben laughs.

Leslie grants him a meager smile and, somewhere deep within, Ben knows that there is no control over how genetics play out. But if anything in life was fair - and Ben reasons that there has to be at least some fairness in life - his visualization of a little girl with light blonde hair and blue eyes wouldn’t be too far off.

A hint of undisguised impishness sneaks into Leslie's gaze and she nudges Ben. "And you're so confident that, after an accident, you'll be able to get it and keep it up long enough to have three kids?"

"Oh my god, you don't think that...?" He chokes out.

Leslie pushes herself away and turns so that she can face him directly. She relinquishes her bowl of ice cream to the table and takes his head between her hands.

"Oh, god, honey, no. I'm sorry, I was kidding. I was joking!"

"That's... like my favorite part of doing it. That's what makes it so nice."

"Ben, honey." Leslie grabs his mostly uneaten ice cream from his hands and drops it next to hers. "I was kidding. You're still going to be able to have sex."

He's blinking back the beginnings of tears.

"Are you sure?" 

She knows that men love their penises, but Leslie wasn't expecting the drug-induced hysteria that she had prompted.

"Yes. I'm sure. Honey, you need to take some deep breaths. I wasn't being serious. I promise you."

"You promise?" He shakes.

"I swear on Li'l Sebastian." She says, partially because Li'l Sebastian's already dead and there's no consequences that can harm the mini horse on the off-chance that she's wrong about this.

With some deep breaths, Ben begins to descend from his distressing outburst and resigns himself to sleep.

“Ben, I need to talk to you,” Leslie whispers, her hand taking his.

“Can it wait? I’m really tired.”

Leslie sighs and decides that it can.

“Will you be here when I wake up?” Ben asks her.

“I don’t know, sweetheart.” She shakes her head. Her volume falls to that of a whisper. “I don’t know.”


	4. Break Me Like a Promise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to thank 'I Surrender' by Celine Dion for playing a role in the writing of the first half of this chapter. It has received a subtle nod in the writing due to this. I recommend giving it a listen!
> 
> This chapter explores some content that may be pushing the T rating... but I am confident in the readers' maturity to handle this without upping the rating.

“I don’t know what it means, Ann,” Leslie says into her cell phone as she makes her way towards the hospital entrance.

She’d felt guilty having to leave without properly saying goodbye to Ben the night before but she couldn’t bring herself to wake him on her way out.

“I wanted to tell him - hell, I _tried_ to tell him, but he checked out on me!” Leslie exclaims. “I tried to tell him the truth but he kept going on and on about how he wants to get married and have three kids and then he _fell asleep on me!_ ”

“Do you think it means he wants to marry you?” Ann asks through the cell phone’s earpiece.

“I have no idea. Even before we broke up we hadn’t said ‘I love you’. I’m kind of mad at him. I mean, I’d thought maybe we’d get married one day, but didn’t know how much I wanted that until he said it.” Leslie replies while stepping into an elevator. “I wish you were working today.”

“I know, I’m sorry,” she sympathizes. “I’ll be back tomorrow morning. What are you going to do?”

Leslie sighs. “I don’t think I have much of a choice. I need to come clean.”

“I’m sorry, Leslie. I’m proud of you, though.”

“Ann, you’re considerate and I love you. But that means almost nothing to me.”

Ann laughs from the other side of the phone. “I know, I know. I’m sorry, still.”

The elevator dings and flashes with Leslie’s exit.

“Ann, I have to go now. Loveyoubye!”

Leslie steps out of the elevator, waves to the team of nurses she’s become acquainted with, and passes into Ben’s room with ease. She stops dead in her tracks when she notices the empty bed.

“He’s showering right now, ” Linda speaks up from next to the bathroom door. In her urgency, Leslie hadn’t noticed the woman sitting against the wall of the conjoined bathroom. “Someone has to be outside in case of a fall. By the sound of it, he’s been done showering for a bit now, but I’ll let you take over for me if you want.”

Leslie nods and assumes Linda’s position, listening intently for any signs of struggle beyond the heavy wooden door. When there’s been a disquieting lack of noise, she knocks gently and pushes the door open to reveal Ben sitting on the floor in a grey t-shirt and his boxer briefs, back pressed against the tiled wall.

“Oh my god!” Leslie screeches. “What happened? Are you okay?!”

“I’m fine,” he reassures her. “Showering is tiring. No one ever talks about how much _work_ it is to shower.”

“You’re preaching to the choir. Any woman can tell you that.”

“Anyways, I got dressed in… this,” Ben gestures to himself. “And I needed to sit down for a bit.”

Leslie giggles. “Can’t get back up?”

“Nope.”

Ben reaches his hand out to her to which she accepts ardently, ready to pull him to his feet. Instead, she’s yanked off of her own with a yelp of surprise. Her knees rest at his hips as she straddles him, his eyes shifting momentarily before his lips hungrily catch hers.

Suddenly Leslie is lost, void of all thought with her composure hanging on by a thread. Her conscience drums in her head in time with Ben’s lips breaking from and recapturing hers. _Guil-ty. Li-ar._ The little voice sings. When Ben’s tongue trails across her bottom lip, she surrenders herself completely. Her forearms rest upon his shoulders, fingers lacing together and falling leisurely to his neck. She’s playing mindlessly with the back collar of Ben’s shirt when he pulls away from her.

“I want to test what you said last night.”

“Huh?” She arches an eyebrow.

Ben’s hand draws away from underneath her blazer and comes to land on her ass with a definitive smack, prompting Leslie to jump and gasp.

“Oh?” She quips.

His haughty expression is quickly replaced with abashment. “Shit, I’m sorry - did we?” He shakes his head as if to clear the mental fog. “Did we ever talk about me doing… that?”

“Oh, we did more than just _talk_ about it.” She winks.

Ben swallows knowingly and kicks the door shut with his foot. It slams, reverberating throughout the room and they sit motionless, anticipating a concerned staff member to come and investigate the noise. When no one knocks, Ben loops his thumbs through the belt loops located along Leslie’s hips.

He presses his mouth to the skin below her ear and growls, “These pants aren’t appropriate for the workplace.”

“What? They’re from Ann Taylor. How are they not appropriate?” She tenses and shifts her weight, causing her hips to grind over Ben’s pelvis and the beginnings of his erection.

_Oh._

“I see your little friend is still around,” Leslie chortles.

“ _Little?_ ” Ben wails with faux outrage.

Her memory chooses now of all times to remind her of the instances of Ben ramming against her walls, a masochistic pleasure that would push her deeper into the throes of ecstasy.

“Your well endowed, make-me-scream-in-pleasure friend.” She amends.

He sighs gutturally against her neck and his hands slide under her blouse and up to her breasts. “I want to hear you scream.”

Leslie cackles and rolls her head back, allowing Ben better access and gasping airily. 

“As assistant city manager, I expect complete compliance from the employees under my jurisdiction, Miss Knope.” He says, fingers trailing along the lace stitching of her bra. Noticeable confusion dances across his face and he blinks in rapid succession in an attempt to recall the particular article of lingerie that she’s wearing. “I’m sorry,” he mutters, breaking character. “I’m having a hard time… I can’t seem to… Is this new?”

Leslie shakes her head no.

“Did you… wear it for me before all this happened?”

She doesn’t respond, afraid that it’ll break him.

“Damn it.” He brings his hands to his face and covers his eyes. He groans. “I don’t even fucking remember it. Is it the black one?”

“Red,” Leslie replies, and he spirals further. “Ben, it’s alright.”

She strokes his hair, but he’s staring over her shoulder at the wall.

“Baby,” she prods. “You’re going to have trouble remembering some things. And while it’s great that your _friend_ made an appearance, do you really want to go at it on the bathroom floor when you’re still getting your strength back?”

He raises his eyebrows with a pointed look.

“Okay, yeah, that was a stupid question.” She yields. “I’m sorry.”

He’s quiet for a moment then folds his arms over his chest. “You don’t want to have sex with me.”

“Ben, that’s not true.”

“You haven’t kissed me since I woke up.”

“I -” The sentence remains unfinished, hanging thickly over their heads. Leslie’s eyes dart around the bathroom and her hands fall uncontrolled to her thighs with a thud. “I don’t want to have this fight with you!”

He rolls his eyes.

“Hey! I get that you’re hurting and you’re having trouble remembering things and this whole situation sucks, but I have been here every moment that I possibly can to support you.”

“You’re my girlfriend!” He shouts. “I would hope that my _girlfriend_ would be here!”

“I’m not having this fight!” Leslie exclaims before pushing herself up. She grabs his sweatpants from the sink and tosses them at Ben with more force than intended. “Sorry. Put your pants on.”

Grumbling, he follows her instruction and extends both arms towards Leslie begrudgingly. She takes hold, pulls Ben to his feet, and loops his arm around her shoulders so that she can assist him back to bed. Leslie slinks away from him once he’s situated so she can rest in the oversized chair. The channels on the TV change sporadically until Ben huffs and turns it off.

“I’m sorry,” Ben says. “I didn’t mean what I said earlier. You were right, my entire body hurts and I’m confused and frustrated and I took it out on you which wasn’t fair.”

Leslie softens, rises, and presses her lips to his.

“It’s okay.” She pushes her fingers through his damp hair. “I’m going to get some coffee. Do you want anything?”

He shakes his head. “No, thank you though.”

“Okay. I’ll be right back.” Leslie leans down and kisses him again before exiting.

The solitude ends as quickly as it begins. Dr. Lane arrives to conduct another assessment, poking and prodding and having Ben flex and relax the requested muscles. The neurologist is writing his conclusions on Ben’s chart when he mentions Leslie.

“Miss Knope’s attentiveness says a lot about her.” He says casually.

Ben smiles. “That’s Leslie for you.”

“I have been in practice for over thirty-six years, and I’ve seen wives that are less dedicated to their husbands, much less a former partner. I know that I don’t know the circumstances of your break up, and I hope I’m not out of line by saying this, but don’t let her get away. Women like her are hard to come by.”

Ben nods, dumbfounded. 

Dr. Lane mentions something about the recovery process that Ben doesn’t catch before he excuses himself. Ben’s too busy reminding himself how to breathe to pay attention.

Leslie whirls around the corner, blonde hair bouncing and coffee cup in hand.

“Hey!” She beams.

“Hey…”


	5. So Casually Cruel in the Name of Being Honest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is brought to you by My Heart Will Go On (Live in Quebec City) by Celine Dion.

“I know you said you didn’t want anything, but I got you some gum.” Leslie tosses the plastic wrapped package to Ben without warning and it hits him in the eye. “Oh god, I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Ben says while rubbing at his face.

She’s made it to his side and is about to angle his chin towards her so she can assess the injury when her cell phone jolts to life with William Barnes’ name illuminating the display. Ben’s face scrunches. The name sounds eerily familiar yet, to Ben’s growing frustration and dread, he can’t place it.

“I’m sorry, I’ll call them back later.” She says.

“No, it’s okay. Take it now.” Ben says glumly.

Leslie blinks and leaves, answering the call sweetly as if she hadn’t just been slighted.

He clenches his eyes shut, desperate for a memory - any memory - from after Li’l Sebastian’s funeral. The air is too warm, too thick, and he knows he’s hyperventilating but he can’t help himself. He feels woozy, dizzy in the head and unsettled in the stomach. He needs to ground himself, needs to calm down, needs to regulate his breathing. His eyes dart around the room and land on Leslie’s open purse propped against the wall.

From his vantage point, he can make out a cherry wood box peeking out from within.

_I really like you, she says, hands folded apprehensively._

_The box ping pongs between them, neither willing to cede._

_He thinks that he can’t ever hate her, not in a million years, not in a million lifetimes. He can’t hate her for chasing this opportunity._

_But he’s allowed to be frustrated by her insistence and unwillingness to open his offering and he’s allowed to cut her off by showing her the contents._

_She stares, detached, then overcome by something Ben can’t place._

_And he’s sorry, he should have voiced his support to her as soon as he figured out, but he’s selfish and didn’t want it to end._

_And she nods knowingly but argues with him and he can tell that she’s grasping at any last feeble chance to save them from the inevitable._

_It’s not you, it’s me. I’m not ready for a commitment. I just don’t like you anymore._

_She’s on Joan Callamezzo declaring her love for Pawnee, telling anecdotes from her childhood whilst embarrassing the show’s crew and announcing her run for City Council._

_She nails it and looks to him and he’s smiling outwardly and dying inwardly, but it’s not about him right now._

_They’re back at City Hall and she’s scanning her book again and he’s shamelessly yearning when she peeks at him, smiling somberly before averting her gaze. But it’s still not about him right now, so he grabs some pages under his fingers and says nothing._

_He’s in a meeting with Donna and Jerry and, yeah, he’s being a hardass. No, it’s not related to Game of Thrones, he just needs everyone to do their job. His ties to Pawnee have all been severed and she’s buried herself in her work and campaign and he can tell she hasn’t been sleeping. Not because of reasons that anyone could cue in on such as undereye circles, but because she’s adding more packets of sugar to her coffee than usual and because she doesn’t notice him watching her through her office windows anymore. And he’s fine with those realizations until he discovers that his punchcard to Ray’s sandwich shop is expired and it almost feels like a sign._

_At some point, he’s crying in a costume shop while feeling very un-Batman like._

_There’s a Halloween party at his own house that he’s not told about and Andy’s kicking and pestering him until he’s in a headlock, refusing to release him. At some point, he elbows Andy in the face and he’s genuinely terrified that he just inflicted pain on someone because of Leslie but Andy’s nose is broken now and it’s still not about Ben._

_And then they’re standing in Chris’s office and he’s being forced to accompany Leslie to the end of the world gathering in the park and he really doesn’t want to go, he’s made that much clear. It’s too weird, which he says, and too painful, which he keeps to himself. And she’s flustered and she leaves without saying anything other than ‘yeah’._

_He’s at the park when Shauna approaches him and makes light conversation which is flattering but he has no interest in pursuing her and Leslie calls him_ boring _which shouldn’t sting as much as it does, but she’s making an ass of herself under the guise of friendliness and trying to lure Shauna away from him. So he plays into her discomfort, which he’s not proud of, but she’s losing her composure faster than Jerry does when he’s being antagonized by Tom and a twisted part of him finds it extremely amusing. He no longer feels any shame when she pulls them into an abandoned gas station parking lot and all but admits that she’s jealous and possessive._

_She’s pounding on the door and rambling some sort of an apology and manages to outwit him by requesting to see Shauna which delights her and she’s retreating from him again, walking back towards the car without looking back, possessing more discipline than he feels at the moment._

_It’s Tuesday night and he’s driving in the downtown sector of Pawnee feeling dejected, having no girlfriend to go home to and no friends to visit outside of work. The street lights illuminate the stretch of road before him and for the first time in a long time, he’s obeying the posted speed limit, letting his mind wander when he notices a red car coming a little too close, a little too -_

Ben presses his thumbs into his temples. If he’d thought that bridging the gaps in his memory would help to put him at ease, he was grossly, inconsolably wrong.

He sits alone with the understanding that he and Leslie are not together, hadn’t been together in quite some time, and releases a shaky breath. She’s been misleading him - no, _lying_ to him - for nearly a week and it’s not lost on him that she has been so giving and patient and selfless despite the awful way they left things between them.

Then he changes his mind.

No, he determines, she wasn’t acting from a place of altruism when she let him go _on and on_ about his childhood and his hopes and dreams for a future with her. Leslie wasn’t letting him be vulnerable and intimate for his own sake. She wasn’t allowing him to tell her that he loved her in all ways except _that_ way because she cared about him.

She’s self-serving and tunnel-visioned and inconsiderate.

Ben then directs his rage to Ann because, quite frankly, he expected more from her. He at least expected Ann to be more objective and to have told him about Leslie’s deception during the brief encounters that she’d drop by to visit him when Leslie couldn’t due to work obligations, but she is just as complicit as her best friend.

Leslie returns with an air of satisfaction, bouncing and nearly tripping over herself.

“Sorry, sorry.” She grins. “How’s your eye?”

Jaw set, Ben swings his legs over the side of the bed and pulls the box from her bag. He places it in her hands, her eyes widening in horror.

“When did you plan on telling me we’re not dating?” He asks sullenly.

She doesn’t reply. She’s suddenly transfixed by the baseboard coming together in the corner of the room.

“Was it when I was scared and they ripped a tube out of my throat? Or maybe when I was pouring my thoughts out to you?” He laughs sardonically. “Wow, this is truly spectacular. For once in her life, Leslie Knope has nothing to say.”

She’s shaking her head no but doesn’t speak up.

“You know, this whole time I thought I was going crazy, or maybe that I was broken in some way, because I was in a major accident and my girlfriend didn’t want to kiss me and would barely touch me, but I brushed it aside. Maybe you just wanted to be extra cautious in case we got caught. But then you were holding my hand and pushing my hair back and then you _finally_ kissed me, but only after I brought it up.

And then I find out, from someone that’s practically a stranger, that you’ve been lying to me this whole time! How do you think that feels, Leslie?”

He’s inching closer to her, invading her space, volume steadily rising.

“And all of a sudden, it all makes sense. Why you’ve been so distant when you’re touching me, why you wouldn’t kiss me. And you know what, Leslie? That’s really mean of you. Out of all the things you’ve done that were inconsiderate of other people’s feelings, this is easily the worst.”

Ben retreats from her and falls back onto the bed, wincing in pain.

“I think you should go now.” He says.

Leslie grabs her purse and makes her way out and Ben breaks under the weight of the last half hour. He only notices he’d been clenching his hands into fists when the pain becomes too much to withstand and they burn further at the memory of how they’d danced across Leslie’s skin earlier.

She was the sun, bringing light into everyone’s lives, and he got burned.


	6. I Surrender

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The final chapter is here!! I have more notes at the bottom, but I want to thank you so much for reading!

She can’t blame him, really.

If Leslie’s being honest with herself - and she usually is - she really dropped the ball with this one. It’s the fuck up of fuck ups, the cumulation of weeks of bad decisions regarding her and Ben Wyatt, and she really shouldn’t be surprised that it blew up like this.

But that doesn’t mean she can’t be devastated over losing him for a second time.

She, admittedly, should’ve told him as soon as he’d said he couldn’t remember anything since the Li’l Sebastian memorial. She should’ve come clean right then, should’ve started at the night of the memorial and worked her way to the present. But he had looked so scared as the nursing staff swarmed him and tore the ventilator out that Leslie couldn’t bring herself to subject him to more pain.

At least, that’s why she thinks she did it.

It’s not until she’s sitting with her feet curled up underneath her at Ann’s house that the uneasiness that has been forming in her stomach over the past three days reveals itself for what it truly is – longing – and destroys her. She was so, so naïve to believe that she could reassume the role of Ben’s girlfriend without suppressed feelings affecting her judgment.

“You were right.” She chokes out as Ann rubs her back. “You warned me about leading him on and I didn’t listen and you were right. God, this is almost worse than the first time.”

Their last interaction constantly plays on repeat in her mind but his words are suddenly more abrasive than usual when she’s sobbing uncontrollably into a throw pillow.

“No, it’s worse than the first time.” Leslie surmises.

At least the first time Ben didn’t hate her.

“He’ll get over it, Leslie, just give it time.”

“The chances of him forgiving me are less than zero. Ron is more likely to become a vegetarian. Jerry has a better chance of becoming mayor than I have of making up with Ben.” She pauses and considers the thought before bursting into hysterical laughter. “God, can you imagine Jerry as mayor?”

“Crazier things have happened,” Ann reasons before taking Leslie into her arms.

“How is he?” Leslie finally musters the courage to ask after some time.

“I can’t really tell you any of that,” she concedes. “HIPAA and all that. He’s sad. He’s recovering well but he’s really sad.”

“Really?”

“A complete and utter wreck,” Ann replies.

The admission isn’t humorous at all, but Leslie bursts out into a cackle that transitions into hiccups that later amount to silent tears trailing down her face.

Her voice is thick when she finally speaks.

“I miss him.”

_“You’re an eight,” he tells her proudly as she walks into the hospital room._

_“What?” Leslie asks._

_“You’re an eight!” Ben replies gleefully._

_She freezes and scrunches her face in confusion. “That’s flattering... I think? Who’s a ten?”_

_“Carrie Fisher in the 1983 classic, ‘Return of the Jedi.’” He says without jest. “But that’s not what I mean. In that sense, you’re an eleven.”_

_Leslie’s insides twist at the compliment and Ben motions for her to sit on the sheet next to him so he can whisper to her. His breath is warm against her ear and the beginnings of his facial hair prick at her skin._

_“When I’m between your legs, I’m working math problems.”_

_The absurdity of the statement hits her and she is consumed with hysteric giggles until she notices his sober expression._

_“Oh my god, you’re serious. What?!” She tries in vain to stifle the laughter._

_He’s desperately trying to keep up this front but the look of incredulity on Leslie’s face chips at his resolve and he’s swiftly laughing along with her. “Just some good old freestyle long division, babe.”_

_“You’re dead serious? You’re not messing with me?”_

_“I pick the first numbers that I can think of and go with it, I am one hundred percent serious.”_

_“Benjamin Wyatt, you are_ such _a nerd!”_

_He grabs her wrists and tugs her to rest on top of his chest so that they’re nose to nose._

_“I think up a dividend, a longgggggg dividend,” he drawls, “and then I pick a divisor. I draw the vinculum and then I get to work.”_

_“Is that so?”_

_“Yeah, and you’re an eight because when they show up in the arithmetic you get really wound up. Curled toes, arched back, writhing and moaning. The whole works.” He says smugly._

_Leslie’s eyes narrow into slits. “You think you know me so well. You think you’re so slick, you think you’ve got such game. You don’t have nearly as much swagger as that huge ego of yours leads you to believe.”_

_Her voice is cool and steady but her hands trail across his shoulders to grasp his biceps._

_Ben continues, “Sometimes you’re a four or a three, but they’re not as consistent as eight. When I can tell that you’re getting close I just add a bunch of eights to the end of the quotient.”_

_“But then the math’s wrong,” Leslie says nonchalantly with her nails digging into his skin._

_“That doesn’t matter when you’re exploding around my tongue.”_

_Her brain short circuits and her palm rises on its own volition to gently smack his chest at the obscenity._

_“Oh my god!” She grinds her teeth but she can’t mask the effect it’s had on her._

_He growls, “I love watching you divide by zero.”_

_“Do you have a math euphemism for everything?”_

_He angles his hips upwards. “I want to thrust my rock hard solidus into your tight, wet obelus.”_

_“BEN!” She shrieks and what’s left of his stern facade flounders further as he derives immense gratification from her flustered state. “You’re a nerd. You're a nerd and a pervert! Stop thinking about doing math between my legs.”_

Leslie shakes her head at the memory. She’s sitting in on a meeting about the financial projections for replacing the broken slides at Ramsett Park when she realizes that she’s been rereading the same sentence in the project proposal and that Chris has been droning on about the statements that the colors of the slides will make. With burning thighs, Leslie looks around the room at her colleagues.

Ron is staring at his folded hands currently resting upon the conference table, Tom’s tinkering with his cell phone, April is drawing vulgar cartoons on the desktop with her purple Sharpie, and Ann’s face is contorted in annoyance over being dragged into this meeting against her will. Leslie’s gaze drifts to the empty seat across from hers - Ben’s unoccupied unofficial chair for all of the Parks department briefings. _Talk about a boner killer,_ Leslie mulls.

“Hey Chris, can we do this later, please?” She interjects. He seems taken aback at her outburst but beams in response.

“Of course. We can reconvene after lunch!”

“Don’t you think we should wait until the budget analyst can actually attend the meeting?” Leslie asks with more fire than she had originally intended.

“That is literally such a great idea,” Chris replies, either not picking up on Leslie’s irritation or choosing not to publicly reprimand her. If Leslie’s intuition is correct, it’s probably the former rather than the latter.

Leslie excuses herself from the conference table first, pushing her rolling chair back with a shove. She’s about to walk through the front doors of City Hall when Ann grabs her hand and whirls her around.

“Where are you going?” Ann questions.

“I’m going to the hospital to see Ben.”

“Leslie,” Ann starts.

“No, Ann! You are wonderful and supportive and I really appreciate that, I really do, but I need to see him right now. I don’t care if he yells at me or has me thrown out or whatever. I need to see him.”

Leslie makes to take off again but Ann doesn’t release her arm.

“Ann, can you please let go.”

Ann’s face falls. “Leslie, Ben was discharged four days ago.”

“What?” Leslie lets her arm go limp. “He what?”

“They sent him home,” Ann says. “I wanted to tell you, but you were so busy with the campaign and your job here and I didn’t know if you would want to know.”

“Of course I’d want to know!” She counters.

Ann folds her arms across her chest. “Okay, yes, I’m sorry. I should’ve told you. Believe me, the irony is not lost on me. But if he wanted you to know that he was discharged, he would’ve told you.”

“He’s mad at me,” Leslie says.

“You don’t know if he’s-”

Leslie cuts her off. “You know something. You know that he’s mad at me. He told you that he’s upset with me and you didn’t tell me.”

“Okay, fine! Yes! He’s mad at you. He’s pissed at me, too!” Ann shouts. “And rightfully so!”

Leslie’s voice is uncharacteristically calm. “When did he tell you this?”

“When I tried to talk to him the day after you spent the night at my house.”

When Ann answers, it’s not the licking flames of fury that Leslie feels course through her veins, but rather the icy chill of betrayal.

“Goodbye, Ann.” She says before turning on her heel and out towards her car.

She doesn’t return to work that day. Or the day after. The weekend passes and for the first time ever, she feels no remorse about not working on a Sunday.

When she does finally return to work, the first thing that greets her is Ron’s voice bellowing in anger.

“KNOPE! My office. _NOW._ ”

She closes the door behind herself with a sickening thud and sits on the bench in front of his desk.

“Go ahead, lay into me.” She sighs.

“While under normal circumstances I’d love nothing more,” Ron begins, “do you mind telling me what the hell is going on? You’ve been nothing but insolent towards other people and while it brings me great joy to see these bureaucratic bootlickers get brought down a couple of notches, you’re one bad decision away from being placed on indefinite administrative leave.”

Leslie shifts uncomfortably in her seat.

“So, again, I ask you: what the hell is going on?”

His arms are crossed over his chest and she can’t help but notice that with the way his face is currently set, his eyebrows look just like his mustache. She feels small, like a child being punished for insubordinate behavior. In a way, she figures, that’s exactly what’s happening.

When she refuses to answer him, he slams his palms on the desk.

“Damn it, woman! I personally put my ass on the line to cover for your no-shows last week and this is how you thank me?”

“I fucked up, Ron!”

He blinks furiously at her.

“I hurt someone that I really care about because I was selfish and I fucked up.”

“Deal with your fuck ups on your own damn time,” Ron says gruffly before his face softens. His voice is hushed as he looks directly at her. “Do you know how terrifying it is to get calls from the nurse and those two campaign buffoons because they can’t get ahold of you and nobody knows where you are?”

“Ron,” Leslie’s voice quivers.

“Forget it. It’s over now. You still have your job - for now - just get back to it, please.”

He motions towards her office and Leslie slides off the bench when she notices cellophane sticking out from his desk drawer. This piques her interest, but she doesn’t say anything. Ron seems to sense her curiosity and grabs the item as if remembering something that he’s forgotten.

“I’m guessing these were meant for you,” he says, pulling a slim bouquet of yellow flowers out of the drawer. He examines the top of the assortment of flowers, removes a wilted one, and tosses them through the air for Leslie to catch. “They were addressed to the Director of Parks and Recreation. I do not appreciate them. Why would anyone want a handful of weeds?”

A smile tugs at the corner of Leslie’s mouth. “They’re not weeds. They’re wildflowers.” She thumbs the folded note open.

_Thinking of you. I’d love to see you sometime if you’re up for it._

“Wait, why did you take that one out?” Leslie points to the flower in Ron’s hand.

“It’s wilted. It is not reflective of Ben’s feelings for you.”

“How did you know that they-”

“I had a feeling.”

Leslie clutches the flowers to her chest and sets off towards her office.

It’s dark by the time that Leslie parks in front of April, Andy, and Ben’s house. The only lights that Leslie can make out are those of the common area, a realization that calms Leslie. April and Andy aren’t home.

She stands timidly at the door for a few moments after knocking. She can hear shuffling from the other side when the knob twists and opens to reveal a slightly disheveled Ben.

“Hey,” Leslie whispers.

“Hi,” Ben replies.

Yep, there’s definitely still some tension between them.

She takes in the state of the living room and entryway behind him and notices how it looks as if a natural disaster has ravaged the house. With Ben effectively banned from anything other than walking for the foreseeable future, the household chores have fallen on April and Andy who evidently have different standards of cleanliness.

“I uh, I didn’t think you would come.” He admits. “I sent the flowers on Friday morning.”

“I wasn’t at work. I kind of fell into a pattern of self-destruction. I had a fight with Ann.”

“I know,” he says. “She told me about it on Thursday night. She showed up here and yelled at me and wouldn’t leave until she made it very clear that she was not happy with me.”

“I’m so sorry, Ben,” Leslie tells him.

“I know you are.” He sighs and takes her in. “Leslie, I’m not exactly ready to completely move past this just yet.”

“And I totally get that.” She interjects.

“But the more that I think about it, the more it becomes clear that I never actually asked you to catch me up to speed. You still shouldn’t have done it, but I can see how you thought it was protecting me, in a way. A completely misguided way.” He laughs which lifts her spirits.

The conversation lulls and the sound of the crickets chirping fills the void. Leslie abruptly shifts her eyes to the ground.

“So, we’re good? We’re still friends?” Ben asks.

The word slices her like a paper cut - imperceivably quick and painless until she turns her attention to it.

“Friends,” she repeats.

She extends her hand to him and Ben swipes the pads of his fingers against hers then freezes, waiting to see if she’ll reciprocate. Leslie smiles knowingly and they swipe the backs of their hands against each other before meeting in a fist bump. Leslie’s about to transition into their signature finger guns when Ben grabs her hand in his and pulls her into a hug.

He gives her hand a squeeze before dragging his thumb across the soft skin of the back of her hand one final time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you SO SO SO much for reading my fic!! This has been a labor of love from start to finish and I cannot believe that I actually wrote not only a multichapter but something that amounted to over 10,000 words.
> 
> Does that last line sound a bit familiar? You might want to revisit chapter one if not!
> 
> 4x07 "The Treaty" takes place right after this.
> 
> I love you and I like you.
> 
> -Meg <3


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